


A Dive In The Past

by Tiz



Series: Dirt and Stones, Blood and Bones [1]
Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Canon Compliant, Curses, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiz/pseuds/Tiz
Summary: Five years after they left England, Lucien and Stephen meet an old acquitance.My take on what happened on the Shaman who cursed Merrick, and what would happen if they would meet again...
Relationships: Stephen Day/Lucien Vaudrey
Series: Dirt and Stones, Blood and Bones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600804
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	A Dive In The Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a post-canon story I am working on :) I hope you all enjoy!

The shaman was kissing him.

The shaman, who was not Stephen, was kissing him.

Lucien wretched away.

The shaman was looking at him, a lazy smile on his face. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Well… Hasn’t little Bamboo grow up…” He drawled, his lips twitching in what was almost a smile.

Lucien was cold, and clammy. His head swam. Something prickled inside him, fluttering wings and whimpers of power. He swayed.

“Why don’t you come here, Bamboo? We could have some good time together…” The voice was soft, warm. It seemed to drip on his brain thick and sweet like molasses, like honey. Lucien could not move. The shaman was… unlacing his clothes…

Blue and black and white fluttered in his mind, over his eyes…

Lucien bolted.

He turned and ran toward the door, crashing into the paper screen, and running.

The night was calm, not a whisper of wind. Only the sound of ocean against the rocks.

In front, a cliff. On his back, the shaman.

Lucien jumped.

The cold water embraced him, shock sparkling all over his skin.

Lucien kicked, flailing his arms. His left foot caught on something. He tried to jerk free and pain exploded from his knee, but he was free. He kicked against it with his good foot, and broke out of the water, breathed, spluttered, and coughed and sputtered again. The waves caught him, and battered him against something hard and sharp. He reached blindly for it and felt slippery rock and rough barnacles and sharp mussels-shell.

He was in the ocean by a cliff. If the waves would throw him against the rock face, he would die. His clothes were heavy, and dragged him down. The water was cold, and he could feel it seeping into him. On the cliff, there was an old enemy. His knee hurt, a stabbing, searing pain that meant nothing good.

It was not, Crane had to admit, a good situation.

But his mind was clear.

He toed his shoes off, and looked at the cliff. The water has eaten away the base of it, and there were few rocks jutting from the water, which was deep under him. He could stay where he was, another barnacle on the rock, and wait for dawn, but the night winter air would be as deadly to his chill body as the cliff itself. And it would mean being close to the shaman.

The cliff was no safety, in spite of the relative calmness of the ocean. There may be a place to climb, but there may not, and swimming in the darkness under the cliff lip where untold currents may snatch him at any moment did not seem a good idea.

Only one thing to do then.

Crane started swimming, ignoring his hurt knee as much as possible, cursing himself to have gotten in such a predicament. He had not been expecting Cheng Yun. It had been more than twenty years since the last time he had seen that bloody shaman. After what he had done to Merrick, after what he had to give to him…

Anger was good. Anger gave strength to his muscles, and it filled him with warmth. Crane gritted his teeth and swam on.

He needed a beach. There should be one… there.

Crane swam to it, his body cold and in pain. He crawled on the beach and laid there, his lower half on the surf, shuddering, face on his hands. Nausea filled his mouth. He couldn’t give up now. He could not. He lifted his head. Stephen. Merrick. They were close. The party for the foreigner by the sea, on the old Portoguese embassy. He remembered that…

“Well, here we are. A great opportunity for more business contacts.”

“I am rather glad to be here. There will be many practitioners from all over Japan, some from Korea and China, I have heard.”

“Uhm yes, quite. I am rather sure we’ll all enjoy our time here. Even little Lucy. Merrick and Jenny plan to bring her to see the ocean. And those small bungalows are lovely for… privacy.”

“Uhm. And you want to go with them, m’lord?”

“I think we could check on the… privacy. Come here, little witch.”

Yes, Stephen was here. Close. He needed to get to Stephen, then he would be all right. Everything would be alright, if he could only get to Stephen.

Crane looked up, sands on his cheek, on his lips, and contemplated standing up. He moved his legs, experimentally. Pain shot from his left knee. Crane grit his teeth. Something had broken here. He set his jaw. He would be damned if he would die of cold or wait for the bastard Cheng Yun to find him. He started crawling, dragging himself on his belly with his elbows and one good knee. His hand grabbed wood. Driftwood. A crutch of some kind! He looked at it, but it was far too small, little more than a stick. He threw it away and searched with his eyes on the white and black beach, the moon bathing everything in cold, clear light. Was that dark shape…? No, a rock. That other one? Maybe…

He crawled to it.

It was a long piece of wood.

It took several moments to gather the strength to stand, teeth gritting. The driftwood was a bit too long, and crooked, but it would do. Now, Cheng Yun bungalow had been there, and theirs was… There.

Crane took a deep breath, gripped the wood, and started on.

The walk from the small beach to the bungalow, in the night, wet and shivery, with a makeshift crutch and fearing at every shadow, every sound for an enemy to come to him was not the worst time of Crane existence, but it was among the top from a wide selection. He stopped more and more often, his dripping, wet back against a tree or a rock, or leaning on the clutch. He knew if he would go down, he would not stand up again. Every step spiked pain from his knee, nausea in his mouth. His hands were clammy, and cold, his head swam. He closed his eyes and went on, stumbling and shuffling on. He was trembling. His teeth were chattering, and then they weren’t, and that, he knew vaguely, was worse.

He had to get to Stephen. Cheng Yun would come for him.

It seemed an eternity. It seemed never to end. By later reckoning, it lasted about one hour, and less than a mile.

Then…

“What… Lucien? LUCIEN! Merrick come in, his lordship is ill!”

Stephen’s voice. Light in the window. Merrick coming to him.

Relief flooded Crane as he let himself fall down, and then nothing.

Stephen Day looked at his sleeping lover.

Lord Lucien Crane was sleeping on the bed. A real bed, not a futon. This used to be a portoguese embassy after all, and the room showed it. It was in the european style, with panelled walls and doors and chairs and rugs, all in shades of brown and red. Lucien’s knee had been bandaged, a doctor had been summoned for the day after, he was dry, and resting. His blonde hair, streaked with grey at the temples, was ruffled on the pillow. It was growing too long. Relaxed, with the lines around his eyes smoothed by sleep, he looked younger than his forty years, almost younger than Stephen own thirty one.

Nothing explained why he had been crawling, wet and cold and in his shirtsleeves when he should have been in an after-dinner drinking with other traders.

So Stephen waited. Because nothing in his experience could explain the fear he had seen in his lover grey eyes, the sheer relief when they had rested on his own rather meagre frame. He had very rarely seen Lucien afraid. And never, never before so much.

A door opened. Stephen did not turn his head.

“His lordship still out?”

Stephen nodded.

“Yes. I’ll tell you when he wakes, Merrick.”

The manservant grunted. “Funny thing it is. Not the funniest we have seen.” Stephen mentally agreed with him. “but funny anyhow. How do you get from drinking champagne with a bunch of toff to looking like something the cat dragged in, uh?”

Stephen shrugged.

“I have no idea. Except that if somebody could have done it, it was Lucien. I’ll let you know as soon as he wakes.”

Merrick grunted again, and handed him a cup of sweetened tea. Stephen sipped it as Merrick left.

His hands prickled.

He had not told that to Merrick.

There was… something, in the ether. A slight disturbance, a sensation. And it was centered around Lucien.

Somebody had done magic to, or close by, his lover. He did not like that, even more so considering the state Lucien had been in.

Lucien startled in the bed, his long limbs flailing. Stephen jumped from the chair, the tea sloshing out.

“Lucien! Lucien it is alright.”

Lucien looked at him, grey eyes startled and huge in his usually sharp face, and Stephen saw as the fear, and tension left him, like a puppet whose strings were cut.

“… Stephen.”

Steph closed his eyes in the face of the sheer relief in these few syllables. He extended his arms, blindly, and Lucien got them, hauling him on the bed and pressing his blond head against the smaller man chest.

“Shh… It is alright.” He treaded his hand in the man’s hair, murmuring softly. Lucien jerked against him, then swore.

“Yes, your knee is wrong. The doctor will come tomorrow, he wasn’t available sooner. Now, Lucian, can you tell me what happened?”

His hands were in Lucien hair. He could feel Lucien’s breath against his collarbone. He waited.

“… Cheng Yun.”

“Cheng Yun?”

“I told you of him. No let me finish.” Lucien looked up at Stephen. “He was the shaman who… cursed Merrik.”

Stephen blinked. He remembered, and his small body went rigid, slowly.

“He is here.”

It wasn’t a question, but Lucien answer anyway.

“Yes. He was… drinking with the others. I did not recognize him at once, he was in European garb. And then… It is rather muddy. I was in his bungalow, it is the one up the cliff, have you seen it?”

Stephen liked this less and less with every word. He nodded, looking intently at Lucien, caressing his back in a way he hoped was soothing.

“And he… he was…”

Lucien closed his eyes and breathed deeply, squaring his shoulders.

“He was kissing me.”

“He WHAT?!”

Lucien said nothing for a long second. His eyes were downcast.

“When he cursed Merrik. I told you I gave him… everything we had. To take it away. We did not have much. I was, you recall, living by my arse by then.” A pause. “I gave him what money we had, and then he fucked me for two night and a day, and called the curse back.”

Stephen could feel his hands curled into talons, his teeth stretched over his lips. He was shaking with rage, but he forced himself to speak, through gritted teeth.

“And he…” A pause. “He shouldn’t be able to fluence you.”

Crane shrugged.

“We aren’t in England. Maybe it is different here. And he was… everybody said he was terribly good at it. A  _ talent _ .”

Stephen could feel his teeth grinding. He forced himself to breathe.

“I see. And today he managed to get you in his room, and to kiss you.”

“Yes. I… Sorry, Stephen. I did not want it.”

Stephen took a deep breath. “You have nothing, nothing to be sorry for.” He was speaking through his teeth.

_ I am going to kill him. _

__

__

Lucien looked up and his lips quirked. Stephen had taken the justiciar expression. Implacable. Cold. He smiled more. Cheng Yun was going to face the music.

“I think he is about to regret it.You have  **that** expression.” His body relaxed further, his head on Stephen narrow chest. He could hear the smaller man heart beating, fast. “Bloody hell, Stephen. I was terrified.”

Stephen hissed between his teeth.

“How did you get away from him?”

“I jumped in the sea.”

“You WHAT?!”

Crane snorted.

“If the choice was to be fluenced into having sex with that bag of gristle and suet and drowing, I’ll take the most pleasant path.”

Stephen’s hands had stilled in his hair.

“… I see. I am sorry I couldn’t help you, Lucien. But you are safe now.”

Crane nodded, closing his eyes.

“I know that. You’ll protect me with your life.”

Stephen’s breath hitched, and his champagne hands caressed the back of Crane’s neck.

“Yes. Yes I will.”

_ You’ll protect me with your life. _

Stephen looked at the sleeping man in his arms. Crane had been attempting to curl into Stephen as much as possible, considering Crane had more than a feet of height on him, and the wounded knee had not helped. He had been terrified.

And then…

_ You’ll protect me with your life. _

Of course he would. It was not even a question. Stephen Day would protect Lord Lucien Vaudrey until his last breath and drop of blood. But hearing Lucien say it, with the same tone in which one would say that water is wet… That was something else.

Stephen kissed the man’s hair. They were graying. He loved every strand of white in them. He loved every sign of Lucien’s face. He loved the man, more than he had realized, once upon a time, that was possible to love another person.

And somebody had hurt Lucien. That bloody shaman had wanted to… to rape him.

He was going to pay.

He lifted his head, looking at Merrick on the door. Five years away from England, and he has reached a point in which he was in Lucien’s bed, with Lucien in his arms, and didn’t jump when Merrick entered.

Stephen considered it quite a victory.

“Cheng Yun.” He says, slowly, and saw Merrick bleach.

“I’ll take care of him. You take care of Lucien.”

Merrick looked at Stephen, then at the sleeping form of Lord Crane, and nodded grimly.

“Kill the fucker.”

“Oh I plan to.”

When Crane saw Stephen again, he was in a new bandage, half reclined in a long armchair by a great window that overlooked the sea, looking out whilst pretending to read. He turned at the open door.

“The doctor said your knee is rather… badly injuried.”

“Uhm, he said I should not move it for a while. I think it is time I get a cane. With a sword. You never know when you may need one.”

As he spoke, his eyes took in the thin figure of his lover. Stephen’s eyes were slightly wild, he favored one side as somebody who got hit on it, and his clothes were more crumpled than usual.

“I assume Cheng Yun is no more among us, uhm?”

“You assume correctly.” Stephen voice was calm, and flat.

“Will you get in trouble for it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Lucien put his head against Stephen thin shoulder and sighed in pleasure. He debated between what to say. Things like “thank you” or “I owe this to you”. But then, he settled on the truest of them all.

“I love you.”

Stephen’s smile was soft and true. “I love you too. Always.”

Stephen’s arms were around him, and his lips against his forehead. The weak sun rays warmed him. Birds which he had an inkling were magpies fluttered around. Cheng Yun was dead.

Crane sighed in pleasure, angled his mouth up, and waited, eyes closed.

He did not have to wait for long before Stephen’s lips caressed his own. And maybe he would have to use a cane for the rest of his life, and maybe he was growing old, and maybe things would change. But he was with Stephen. And suddenly, the other parts were not so important anymore.


End file.
